Anne of Ivory Glen
by Enire
Summary: Anne survives a blizzard, but it's the storm after that threatens her life. Eventual AnneGilbert. Reviews appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

**ANNE OF IVORY GLEN**

**Chapter One: A Basket for Mrs. Dunbar**

Marilla Cuthbert glanced out of the Green Gables kitchen window at the ominous late November sky with a darkening frown, and then back down at her hands which, immersed in suds, hadn't stopped scrubbing the greasy pot in front of her while her eyes had wandered.

"That's what I get for making plans," she muttered in frustration.

Behind her a basket sat on the kitchen table, loaded with baked and canned goods and a corner of checkered cloth peeking out from beneath the wicker lid, waiting to be taken to the recently widowed Mrs. Dunbar some ten miles up the eastern road. Devastated by the loss of her husband and not in the best of health herself, food had been the last thing on Mrs. Dunbar's – Emmaline's – mind, and Marilla had heard in town a few days before that the woman was beginning to show the signs of her grief in her sharp cheek bones and thin arms. Although not especially close to the widow Dunbar, usually only exchanging the appropriate pleasantries with her at social events or the chance meeting, Marilla had been reminded of the bright, rosy-cheeked girl who had sat on the other side of the room giggling with her friends when Marilla had been in school, and had felt moved to make a gesture of goodwill.

So Marilla had put together a basket of a few of the baked goods she was most praised for and a selection of fruits preserved in the height of summer and had set aside the whole afternoon to make the trip. But Mrs. Lynde had shown up at the earliest polite hour of the morning, and Marilla had been obliged to serve her tea. The unexpected guest had either ignored or been oblivious to all Marilla's subtle (and somewhat less subtle) insinuations that she should go, staying to gossip in a continuous one-sided prattle about all the rumors in Avonlea with little regard to their credibility, only finally departing just before lunch and leaving Marilla with all the chores that could not be put off as yet undone.

Snow was not expected until hours after dark, and though drifts piled over the countryside, the roads were fairly clear. But even as she had been standing at the sink Marilla had seen the wind pick up, rattling the branches on the bare trees outside. If the trip was to be made, it would have to be done today, for the ways would be impassible for the next couple of days after the snow fell. But Marilla had hours of chores still to do, and the idea of having to sit in the rumbling buggy, exposed to the chill wind for more than an hour in either direction was sounding desperately unappealing to her aging bones.

It was at this moment that the front door to Green Gables swung open, admitting a bitter breath of winter air and Anne Shirley before closing with a snap. Marilla glanced over her shoulder as Anne swept into the room, unpinning her hat. Her evergreen skirt flowed about her legs below a long chocolate wool coat, her cheeks glowing with exertion and her eyes sparkling, wisps of hair blown loose curling around her face, adorned with bits of snow like tiny pearls. She seemed to hum with energy, invigorated from being out in the cold, where Marilla's limbs were stiff though she hadn't set a foot outside all day. _Ah, to be young again…_Marilla thought.

"You're home early," Marilla remarked.

"The flu in the chimney at the schoolhouse is broken. I tried to light a fire this morning and the whole room filled with smoke! Luckily I was there a little early, and could air the place out before most of the students arrived. But it was too cold. I just couldn't make them sit there shivering the whole day, so I let them out at lunch," she explained.

Anne had been teaching in the Avonlea school since the beginning of the term in fall. Marilla had suffered a spell of ill health for a couple months late that spring, and Anne had come rushing home to help her. Without asking Marilla's opinion on the matter (did it really surprise Marilla that she hadn't?), Anne had written back to the school she'd been teaching at, informing them of her resignation, and planned to remain in Avonlea at Green Gables. Marilla, by now fully recovered, had been furious when she'd found out, scolding Anne for giving up such a good position for her sake. "But Marilla," she'd said, "I've been planning this for months already!" Marilla had looked at her in confusion. Anne had burst into that irrepressible, beaming smile she always gave when she had something up her sleeve, and Marilla had known that she'd already lost the argument. "I came back a couple weeks before the end of term because you were ill, but I was planning to come home to stay anyways. My bags were already packed when Diana wrote me about your health. I just left a couple weeks earlier than I had originally intended. I had already written the town council, and received their reply – they approved me to teach at the Avonlea schoolhouse. It's been set for months. I start teaching here in the fall. Avonlea is my home. There's no place else I want to be."

Although Marilla had rebuked her some more before finally letting the matter go, she couldn't quite hide her pleasure that Anne would be staying, now that she knew it was not due to her aging body. Although Marilla was still spry and able, it was nice to have Anne about, both for the company and for the help. The house had been too empty in the evenings, and there were days now and again when her aching joints would remind her sharply how much she appreciated the burden Anne lifted from them.

"But it's so beautiful outside, Marilla!" Anne continued now. "You should see it. It's as though the dust of diamonds fell instead of snow. The whole world glitters. Even the trees are completely covered in ice, as though they were made of crystal instead of wood! I had to take the long way home to see it all."

Marilla resisted the urge to shake her head. Though Anne had grown into a graceful woman of both word and poise, she was still given to flights of fancy. What would it be like to have such an inventive mind? Marilla wondered. Well, at least, she thought, one would never be bored. Nothing would ever be simply what it was. Snow would never be just snow.

"Well, don't be expecting my sympathy when you catch a cold," Marilla chided with more lemon in her voice than she really felt.

Anne pecked her cheek. "Of course not," she teased, both women knowing that if Anne did fall ill Marilla would dote on her until was made well, no matter how sharp a tongue Marilla gave her for it. "Who's the basket for?" Anne asked.

Marilla gave a short sigh. "It was _supposed_ to be for Mrs. Dunbar, up at Glenwood Farm. I meant to deliver it this afternoon, but Rachel Lynde came by this morning and only left two hours ago, and there's chores I have to do before that storm comes in tonight and the well freezes again."

"So that's why you've been baking nonstop! Let me take it," Anne offered.

"Don't be ridiculous. You've already been out walking in the snow for hours, and teaching in that cold schoolhouse all morning. If you go out again you _will_ catch a chill for sure."

"It will take me hardly any time at all," Anne protested. "And it's so gorgeous, I'm of a mind to go out again anyways."

"It's a three hour drive there and back," Marilla corrected. "I meant to start out after lunch. If you go it will be dark before you get back. I don't want you out there when the temperature drops."

"Nonsense. It won't take me five minutes to hook the horse to the buggy, and I can be out and back before dinner. I haven't even taken off my coat yet! Besides, if you don't let me take it, all that baking you did the past two days will go to waste. We certainly couldn't eat it all ourselves," she added, knowing how Marilla hated to waste anything.

Marilla paused, considering. "Alright," she acquiesced. "But you're to go directly there and directly back. Don't dally!"

"I promise I'll come right home, just as soon as I've made sure she eats something." She grabbed the basket from the table and almost flew for the door, calling out behind her, "I'll be back before you know it!"

Marilla heard the front door open and shut again, and Anne's footsteps down the stairs. Looking towards heaven as though for relief, she turned back to her scrubbing, satisfied that at least all the tasks she had set for today would be accomplished after all.

But as she washed the dishes and for the rest of the afternoon, she couldn't shrug off the niggling sensation that settled between her shoulder blades.


	2. Chapter 2

**ANNE OF IVORY GLEN**

**Chapter Two: Blindsided and Blinded**

"Are you sure you won't stay longer, Miss Shirley?" asked the grateful Emmaline Dunbar. It had been weeks since her husband's death, and weeks since anyone hadn't walked on eggshells around her. Before she had opened the door to the ebullient Anne Shirley, Mrs. Dunbar would have sworn that anyone so cheerful when she was engulfed in grief would have rubbed her the wrong way; but to her surprise she'd found upon obligingly inviting Anne in that cheer was exactly what she had needed. Neither had Anne come in pretending that Emmaline's recent tragedy hadn't happened, as she would have expected. Rather Anne actually broached the subject, asking how she was holding up, and over the course of an hour and tea (along with some of Marilla's wonderful cooking) had steered the conversation to Mrs. Dunbar's memories of her husband, so that Mrs. Dunbar found herself recounting bright, happy days with her husband, and actually heard herself laughing a couple times. Now as she stood by the front door as Anne put back on her coat, gloves, and hat, the pain of her loss was still keen, but it was made bittersweet by the memories Anne had helped her revive, and she was sorry to see the young woman go so soon.

"Marilla is expecting me before dark," Anne said as she pulled on her last glove. "I'll get an earful if I stay any longer. But I'll come back and see you after this storm blows over," she promised, putting a comforting hand on the woman's arm.

"I'd like that," said Mrs. Dunbar.

Anne smiled as Emmaline opened the door for her. "Stay warm!" she told her.

"I'll try. Have a safe trip home."

Anne stepped out onto the porch, and Mrs. Dunbar closed the door behind her. Careful of the ice on the steps, Anne made her way to the barn where Mrs. Dunbar had let her put the horse and buggy to keep them out of the snow. She found the animal nibbling stray bits of grass and oats off the floor and retethered him to the buggy, leading him outside and closing the barn door behind her. Climbing up into the seat, she took the reins and started for home.

Though it was still a few hours till nightfall, it seemed darker than when she'd entered Mrs. Dunbar's house, she noticed. She could distinguish no change in the sky or breeze, but everything had a faint gray cast to it, even the drifts of pure snow, and it seemed a mite colder as well. _It's only because I've been sitting in a warm, bright room for an hour_, she told herself. But she felt her body tingle, as though the very air was electrified, and she tapped the horse with the reins to speed up his step.

She'd been on the road half an hour when a gust of wind pulled at her hat and flipped the corners of her collar, followed a few seconds later by a second, stronger gust that made her squint. When she opened her eyes again snow had begun to fall in heavy, careening flakes. But it was only dusting the drifts on either side, and so Anne Shirley turned up her coat collar and kept going.

So did the wind, and so did the snow. Even before it really began to come down the wind began carrying loose snow off the tops of the drifts, like sand off dunes in a desert storm, blowing it into Anne's eyes and nose and leaving the road blanketed in a deepening layer that forced the horse to slow down. The snowfall thickened rapidly until within another quarter hour the light was no brighter than the final edge of dusk and the sky was lost to view. As the snow reached halfway up the buggy's wheels, Anne began to doubt she could make out the road: the gap between the drifts was beginning to fill, and the wind seemed to be blowing in all directions at once, playing with her sense of direction. Another gust ripped off her hat, and Anne gasped, turning her head to look for it, but it was already lost. She tried to peer through the haze, but what she could glimpse through the white curtain immediately around her was solid gray.

Shivering with cold and nerves, Anne let the straining horse stop. She was only halfway home with five miles yet to go. There was no place between here and a half mile of Green Gables unless you went down an adjoining road, and Anne thought that she should have passed the one leading to the Waverley's home at old Creek Hollow by now, but she hadn't seen a sign of it, and she didn't dare turn back to look for it for fear that perhaps she had not passed it after all and it was still ahead.

Snow was piling up in her lap and on the horse's back. She blinked away stinging tears of frustration. She certainly wasn't going to get anywhere sitting here, she chided herself. She wasn't lost yet – by her best judgment she was still on the road to Green Gables, and it was a straight shot most of the way – but she would be lost if she didn't get moving.

She scrambled out of the buggy, immediately sinking into the snow to her knees. Stumbling, she made her way to the horse and began trying to unbuckle the harness, her gloved fingers fumbling on the slick leather. With a cry of frustration, she ripped her gloves off, throwing them down, and tore at the buckles with her bare fingers. Finally freeing the horse, she clambered onto his back and began leading the him down the road, abandoning the buggy to the storm.

But even without the load of the buggy, the horse was struggling. Anne dismounted, taking the reins over his head and pulling them. The wind had risen to a scream, and it tore at her clothes and hair, pulling lanks of it free from its pins, and forcing her to keep her head down. She couldn't step as high as the horse, and was having to trudge through the snow, leaving a deep channel behind her. All her layers did nothing to keep her warm, her skirts pooling on the surface of the snow around her while her legs sank mid-way up her thighs with every step, and she could feel snow collecting in her boots.

They had been out of sight of the buggy for twenty minutes, and had made it perhaps a third of a mile, when the horse gave a sudden shrill, almost human scream, falling into the snow above its shoulders behind her. Anne spun to see the horse struggling, its eyes wild with pain and fear. "Come on!" she yelled desperately, yanking the reins. The horse bucked and thrashed for a moment before finally freeing itself, lunging forward so that Anne was forced to fall backwards to evade the horse's hooves. As she picked herself up and turned to the horse, she saw something that made her stomach sink with dizzying speed: The horse was standing on three legs, holding one of its forelegs above the snow, and in the dimness she could see that it was mangled and twisted, dripping with watery blood.

Dread chilled her as she realized that she had wandered slightly off the road, walking over the creek that ran along side it. Light enough, the packed snow had kept her suspended above it, but the heavier horse had hit a thin enough spot that he had fallen through, breaking his foot on the uneven creek bottom and shredding his skin on the ice.

Denial flooded through her almost as quickly, and she began to pull on the horse's reins as hard as she could. The horse made it a couple faltering steps before falling with a tortured neigh. "Come on!" she cried. "Come on! Get up!" He struggled, and made it a step more before his legs quivered and gave out beneath him. "Come on!!!" she screamed into the wind. "Get up!" But the horse laid down, giving a trembling groan. "No!" Dropping the reins, she grabbed his bridle and heaved with all her weight. "Please! You can't stop! Get up! Please, get up!" she started sobbing. He made no effort, letting her pull his head apathetically until she gave up. She rushed forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Please…!" she begged hoarsely. "You can't…! You can't stop!"

The horse huffed and sighed, and laid its head down on the snow, pulling from her grasp. "No!!!" she screamed down at him, standing in front of him. "Get _up_! Get _UP!_" He didn't move, his puffs of breath clouding in the air, and she dissolved into wracking sobs, wrapping her arms around herself.

_Move, Anne,_ a voice inside her urged. _Move!_

Keening, she began stumbling backwards, finally forcing herself to tear her eyes away from the surrendering animal and began slogging her way through the snow.

Her body felt like lead. Tears and snow burned her eyes and blinded her. Her feet and hands were numb, and the scalding in her legs was beginning to ebb. Time wobbled and began to loose meaning. She wanted so badly to sleep. Just sleep and make all this go away. She tripped and fell forwards with a cry, and couldn't catch herself. Weakly, she tried to stand, only to find her legs wouldn't stay under her. With a desperate mew she started to crawl forwards on her hands and knees, but suddenly sank back in again after a few paces.

Shakily, she lifted her head and looked around. Where was she? How did she get here? She couldn't remember. Snow? Why was she crawling? None of it made sense. And then it didn't seem to matter anymore, why it was snowing, or where she was, or why she couldn't remember. None of it mattered. Anne let herself lay down in the embracing softness all around her, and then everything…

wasn't.


End file.
